Unmarred Hands
by WickedlyLaughable
Summary: So this was the country that was going to help him defeat England. "Pretty skin unmarred by a single scar...Was it cozy in his arms?" America hoped he would stop smiling like that or he would have to take it off for him; ally or not.


**A/N: Hey guys! I read this short doujinshi on Tumblr and my brain kept nagging at me "Come on you crazy workaholic! Write about this awesome doujinshi before it becomes just another wistful idea!"**

**So…yeah. I'm not quite confident about writing this because I haven't written anything of my own for about a year and English/American/Does It Really Matter is not my first language. Never mind if it's not my first language, my spelling and grammar sucks in any language, period. So anyone can beta it if they want to! I'd really appreciate it. Even now Microsoft Word is patiently correcting my spelling. You can find the doujinshi for my idea here: losthitsu . Tumblr post /24141605956/ fighting-translation (obviously you have to take out the spaces) I'm going to change the story a little differently than the doujinshi but I'm keeping most of the text. But I will not and cannot make this a yaoi story! Not Prumerica or USUK! Nor America/Whale! Or America/Mochimerica! (Yes, there really are fanfics about them. What can I say? On Fanfiction everyone becomes crazy one day. Some just get hit harder than others *shrug*[is ignoring fact that she ships Drapple])**

**Anyway, sorry for the long A.N. Hope you like it! Fanfiction seriously needs more young!America and serious!Prussia.**

A young teenaged boy gazed silently out toward the sea. His legs ached a little from standing so long, but he supposed it was his own fault for coming far too early than he should have. A small sigh came from the golden-haired boy as his thoughts drifted to places where he _really _didn't want them to go to. Everything was so complicated nowadays.

Freedom, money, England…England's stupid tea…That was probably the only good thing he could make without the person dying of poisoning!

The blue-eyed nation vowed to never have food as bad as England's from then on. (He never really succeeded.)

As the deceptively teenaged looking boy uttered these unsuccessful vows out loud, a slightly hoarse, but strong voice suddenly called out,

"I'm the awesome Prussia! The training in my house is tough on not only the body, but for the mind too!"

The soon-to-be independent country (or at least he hoped so) jumped suddenly and quickly turned around to face his ally and trainer to help him defeat England.

The young man was quite a bit taller than the blond with black clothes and a peculiar shaped hat on his head. But that was the least thing odd about him. He had a mess of stark-white hair, although he only looked to be around twenty-one years old and his eyebrows and eyelashes were the same color, so the younger boy dismissed the thought of it being dyed. But probably the most fascinating part of him was his crimson eyes that reflected war, pain, ruthlessness, strength, endurance and _so much blood. _

Those were eyes that a person could never forget.

Then the to-be-country felt a little pity when he realized that the young adult-looking man in front of him probably sucked in espionage missions.

When the teen realized that the man with the blood eyes was silently looking at him _(those eyes that shouldn't be that impossible color)_. He quickly closed his mouth and with as much dignity he could get right now said,

"Yeah…"

The young man still silently looked at him, but now those eyes seemed to be glaring a little. But with how intimidating he already looked, there wasn't much of a difference. America felt like slapping himself while wearing a hat with the words 'Dunce' written on it. The sapphire-eyed boy quickly corrected himself and speaking with all the confidence and dignity he didn't feel said,

"I mean, yes sir!"

Those eyes still looked at him. It was getting a little creepy.

"…"

Still creepy.

America's legs hurt a lot and he was not a very patient person by nature. So, mustering up a little courage, asked hesitantly, "Wha-What is it?"

Now along with the 'Dunce' hat, he could pin a 'Stuttering Coward 'badge on his shirt. And the guy was supposed to be his ally and trainer! He couldn't afford to look weak to the country that was helping him; they could drop the alliance and he needed all the help he could get if he wanted to defeat England. A hoarse voice (was that amusement?) answered clearly, "I see how lovingly you were brought up." Why was he smiling like that?

Wait, lovingly? As America thought about it, he admitted that England brought him up quite like the parents he read about in stories when he was younger. Food (even though any mortal child would have died by now, England did it out of love…maybe...), shelter, hugs, more freedom than most colonies…

Then unique-looking country continued on, unperturbed by the younger nation's thoughtful gaze, "Pretty skin unmarred by a single scar…Was it so cozy in his arms?" he said; still with that amused smile on his face. America privately thought that was probably how Satan smiled when a person was damned to him.

The white-haired person (Country? Demon?) gently, as if he was holding a snake and he was the snake charmer, picked up America's wrist with his own black-gloved hand up to his eye level. America stayed silent for a while, his thoughts in slight turmoil. A million questions threatened to come up. Was his whole hand painted in snow-white scars that were almost the same color of his skin? Would he drop the alliance because he thought America wasn't tough enough defeat England? Would he have eyes like his if (_when) _he became a country? Eyes that spoke of blood and pain?

Instead of asking any of these questions, he chose the first one that was probably the least offending to the intimidating country.

"Do you know England?"

The albino country stayed silent for a little while. America was starting to wonder if the young man had some kind of temporarily mute symptom. But he felt as though the crimson-eyed country did it on purpose to make him sweat a little. Not that America was afraid. Of course not. Not one bit.

The man suddenly dropped the teen's wrist and answered his question with a slight coldness to it,"We aren't too close. But," He leaned in far too close for America's tastes. Almost nose-to-nose now _(those eyes are too close!) _he continued," I didn't expect he'd spoil his brat this much. He just isn't the type for that." America silently agreed with him. He'd seen England fight before. America was probably pampered because England's brothers were always harassing and beating him as a child and even to this day. He wanted to be the perfect big brother to America to make up for his own siblings. "…Or so I've always thought of him."

It then hit America just what kind of stubborn country he was going to fight. England had far greater experience in fighting and organization than a one hundred year old something colony! But he had made up his mind. And his choice for freedom gave him more strength and more purpose than England.

"Scared?" A voice said mockingly. "The one you are going to fight is not your kind parent; it's a strong country that survived the turmoil in Europe. Are you sure you want to fight him?"

Screw the English and their tea. He didn't like tea that much anyway.

"I do. I have my reasons." The blond said.

"Oh?" The older looking man in front of him said, still mocking him. Did the arrogant country think that America was weak? If America wasn't sure that he had the resources to defeat England, they wouldn't be meeting right now!

"But you can't as long as you stay like this." The voice said, finally losing some of its mockery. But he still had that damn smirk on. Ally or not, America didn't know how long he could train under him without punching that smirk off at least once. Never mind that the arrogant looking man was correct in his words. After all, that's why America asked the country for help in the militaristic department. The blond needed someone to turn his soft-hearted farmer men into hard, strong soldiers.

"That's why you have to change." The white-haired man continued, suddenly looking solemn and every bit like a war-raised country with no choice but to survive or die. He turned around, hiding his face from America _(what was he trying to hide?) _and said, "Me, just like him, we had nobody to spoil us." America remained silent. After all, how could someone who has lived almost their whole life with someone to care for them respond to that? You could say you understand, but you don't. You could say you're sorry, but how could you comprehend the feeling of something you've never felt?

You can say nothing.

"We didn't have a choice or could think about reasons. Fighting meant staying alive. Not fighting meant to disappear. But you are different." He said, meeting blood-red with wide blue eyes.

"You are so big already. Even if you would lose…Well, the pressure would be great, but you wouldn't disappear." He said with an apathetic expression on his pale face. His previously amused ruby orbs now frightfully devoid of all emotion. Was this how a person looked after they've seen the horrors of war? America hoped his wouldn't be the same.

The immortal man continued on, not knowing or not caring how intimidating he looked even more without any seeable emotion on his deceptively young face. "But if you win, you will be immediately tossed into the maelstrom of the war in Europe, in exchanged for your freedom."

Maybe he wasn't ready…No! America steeled himself. Freedom or death! He wasn't going to be a bird locked in a pretty cage. Not anymore and never again. He began to speak to the pale-skinned man, "Still, I-!"

The human-looking country suddenly flashed a devilish grin, teeth and all, and, not letting the teen to finish his sentence, rudely cut off, saying, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to persuade you into not fighting. Quite the opposite, I can't wait until you join us. I love fighting." The belligerent country said, his cloak rustling in the wind.

The blond nation kept listening with wide azure eyes.

"You will be hurt and hurt others until you grow stronger…little brat."

**A/N: *faints* Ugh…that took a lot longer that I thought it would! Ha-ha, and it took only five hours to finish this! Ahahaha, ha-ha…Oh man I feel like shit. I HAVE FOUND A NEW RESPECT FOR PEOPLE THAT WRITE 10,000 WORDS A CHAPTER! PEOPLE WHO CRITISIZE PEOPLE'S STORY THAT ARE LIKE THAT, WIRTE YOUR OWN STORY THAT LONG AND THEN REVIEW!**

**On a different note, sorry for all the details and not more dialogue if you like that sort of thing. I have a not-so-hidden love for writing details. And if someone has written a story based on the same idea, I sincerely apologize and anything that seems like the same story is purely coincidental. As for if I'm continuing this, I most certainly not for a lot of reasons. First off and the most major factor is because I'm very busy. I have two jobs and I take judo lessons and piano. And that's in summer vacation. Second, I only write when I have too. This story was only a special case, but maybe I'll make a short omake to this. I won't lie to you, don't get your hopes up. I get many ideas for stories but they quickly come and go. As you can see from my favorite stories here, I'm more of a super bookworm than a writer. Whoa, this author's note has gotten too long! Ciao my fellow Hetalians~!**


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